Clown. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
1405melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

Clown. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
1410like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Countess. [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
1420before the report come. If there be breadth enough
in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
to you.. Your unfortunate son,
BERTRAM.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
1425To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

[Re-enter Clown]

Clown. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
soldiers and my young lady!

Clown. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:
the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of
men, though it be the getting of children. Here
1440they come will tell you more: for my part, I only
hear your son was run away.

Countess. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
1450Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

Second Gentleman. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.
1455

Helena. Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.
[Reads]When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
of thy body that I am father to, then call me
1460husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
This is a dreadful sentence.

First Gentleman. Ay, madam;
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.
1465

Countess. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?
1470

First Gentleman. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
heart was not consenting to.

Countess. Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
There's nothing here that is too good for him
1485But only she; and she deserves a lord
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gentleman. A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have sometime known.
1490

Countess. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.
1495

First Gentleman. Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much,
Which holds him much to have.

Countess. You're welcome, gentlemen.
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
1500To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman. We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
1505

Countess. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near!

[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

Helena. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
1510Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
1515That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
1520That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
1525His death was so effected: better 'twere
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
1530Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
My being here it is that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house
1535And angels officed all: I will be gone,
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.